Just this time
by Curtez
Summary: "You're such a gentleman sometimes." he snarled, as if it was an insult. "I have no idea what you're talking about."


Bucky had always had the most realistic dreams. Ever since he moved in with Steve, once he had absolutely nowhere else to go (which sort of happens when you're a wanted murderer whose other friends and family are all dead), his psychotic nightmares were being slowly replaced with normal dreams, sometimes about such mundane things he'd often mistake them for memories, specially because he was still trying to get his own back.

It was usually about harmless things, such as: he was supposed to get milk and dreamed about doing so, then argued with Steve about having bought it; or he dreamed about getting a cat and then freaked out when he couldn't find it anywhere in the apartment. But the worse were the credible nightmares - nothing like flashbacks or things that were too twisted and fanciful to be mistaken as reality, but something like a relapse, in which he went back to doing the horrible things he'd been programmed to. In those cases, he'd wake up sweating like hell and rush to turn the guestroom's lights on to check whether the moist on his hands was sweat or blood. Then he'd go to Steve's room and wake him up with questions like "But are you sure I didn't leave the apartment?", "I could have escaped through the window, how would you have known?", "How could you hear anything from here? You fell asleep watching Armageddon." And Steve always took the time to comfort him, no matter how tired he was, and patiently reassure him that it'd all been a bad dream.

After the eighth time, he told Bucky to sleep in his room with him until the nightmare phase went away, so they started sharing a bed. The bad dreams did get less frequent, and whenever they happened and Bucky sat up in a snap, breathing heavily, Steve would simply place a hand on his arm and, half asleep, tell him that everything was okay. And, as time went by, everything was.

Sharing a bed reminded them of their times as teenagers, when they'd discuss the best comic books and the meaning of the universe up to three in the morning until one of them finally gave in and fell asleep; and that was usually Steve. That gave Bucky the chance the look at his friend's face up close, see what had changed and what had stayed the same; what had remained of that frail yet brave little guy he'd saved from so many street fights, and what traits had come along with the independence to single-handedly beat the big guys up. And finding the differences and resemblances was really helping him remember of their time together.

And that was the subject of the night when they both went drinking at the end of a slow Friday.

"And remember that time" Bucky continued laughing, having to lean against Steve not to fall to the side once he was completely wasted, as they waited for the elevator on Steve's building. "when you stood up for that kid that was being bullied by five enormous guys, and they stole all your clothes so you had to walk around on your underwear until i found you and gave you my jacket?"

"Really? /Those/ are the memories you're recovering first?" Steve replied, completely sober. The elevator arrived so they walked in, and he pressed the button to his apartment's floor.

"Man, I still can't believe you can't get drunk anymore." Bucky said, putting his hands and resting his head on Steve's shoulder.

"And I can't believe I let you take that many shots."

"Yeah well, you're no fun." he said as the elevator arrived and he walked towards the apartment, leaning against the door while waiting for Steve to unlock it.

"Have you ever been sober while everyone else was wasted?" the blonde asked, trying to identify the keys in the dark.

"Not that I remember."

"I mean... Don't get me wrong, you do have some stories to tell afterwards since you're usually the only one who remembers it all, but it can get awkward." he said, going in, waiting for Bucky to come in before closing the door, and being turned around and pinned against it the moment he did so. Bucky's hands were tight on his shoulders, and Steve was sure that he was blushing beyond measure.

"Awkward like how?" Bucky asked, getting closer by the second.

"Y-you realize that the things people do when they're drunk are reckless, and that they don't usually think of the consequenc-"

But Bucky pressed their lips together before he had the chance to finish. It was long and soft, and his hands slowly slid from Steve's shoulders to the back of his head as, recovered from the shock, Steve's hands placed themselves on the soldier's back. It was a while before Bucky pulled apart, keeping the distance between them as short as possible.

"I think" Bucky whispered, looking at Steve's lips. "that most things people do when they're drunk are the things they don't have the guts to do when they're sober." And he leaned in again, deepening the kiss. After another messy moment, it was Steve's turn to break it off, and Bucky took the chance to take of his shirt, then pulling them closer.

"I'm not going to let you do this." Steve smiled, as Bucky kissed his way down his neck. "You're wasted."

"And?"

"And I'm not taking advantage of you!" he laughed, making Bucky grunt, annoyed.

"You're such a gentleman sometimes." he snarled, as if it was an insult.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Steve said, picking him up in the most prince-charming-way possible and taking him to their room, without turning any of the lights on. He carefully placed him on his side of the bed and leaned in for a long kiss, before putting Bucky's messy hair behind his ear and looking sweetly at him. "We'll see how you feel about it in the morning, when you're sober."

"You're still a punk." he grunted, turning on his side and falling asleep.

Bucky woke up the next morning on his side of the bed, and looked to the side. Steve wasn't there - judging by the smell of bacon and eggs, he was making breakfast in the kitchen. He sat up and put his hand behind his neck, chuckling as he remembered what had happened the previous night, still wearing his jeans and no shirt. He got up, walked out of the room and saw Steve frying bacon strips, already dressed up for his jogging. He smiled and walked towards him, his arms sliding around the blonde's waist and his head resting on his shoulder.

"Good morning." he whispered warmly to his ear. Steve's head turned in a snap, a question starting to form on his lips, interrupted by a lazy kiss. Steve just let himself get carried away by it, and had only started to kiss back when Bucky pulled them apart. "And I'm sober." he said softly, before letting go of Steve's waist and heading to the kitchen counter to make some coffee.

Steve turned at him and was about to ask what the hell that'd been for, trying to remember what had happened last night - they were talking and drinking in a pub when Bucky passed out, so he carried him back to the flat, but that was it. But then he realized: his dreams. The ones he would mistake for memories. Had he dreamed that the two of them had hooked up last night? Something stopped him from asking when he looked at Bucky's bare back and his messy morning hair. Maybe, just this time, he could not tell him it had all been just a dream... If it hadn't been a bad one, then what's the harm?


End file.
